“So I thought, too; but he expected you’d be trapped at Willaroon before there would be time for you to catch me up. If he hadn’t met that Jemmy Wardell, I daresay he wouldn’t have thought of it. When he told me I was in such an infernal rage that I fired point blank at him; didn’t wait to see whether he was dead or alive, and rode straight back here to warn you. I was just in time—eh, Jim, old man? Why, you look so respectable they’d never have known you. Why didn’t you stay where you were, James?”

“I wish to God I had!” says poor old Jim. “It’s too late to think of that now.”

We hadn’t over much time for talking, and had to range up close to do it all at the pace we were going. We did our best, and must have ridden many a mile before dark. Then we kept going through the night. Starlight was pilot, and by the compass he carried we were keeping something in a line with the road. But we missed Warrigal in the night work, and more than once I suspected we were going round and not keeping a straight course.

We didn’t do badly after all, for we struck the main road at day light and made out that we were thirty miles the other side of Cunnamulla, and in the right direction. The worst of it was, like all short cuts and night riding, we’d taken about twice as much out of our horses as we need have done if we’d been certain of our line.

“This ought to be Murrynebone Creek,” says Starlight, “by the look of it,” when we came to a goodish broad bit of water. “The crossing place is boggy, so they told me at the hotel. We may as well pull up for a spell. We’re in Queensland now, that’s one comfort.”

It took us all we knew to get over; it was a regular quick-sand. Rainbow never got flustered if he was up to the neck in a bog, but my horse got frightened and plunged, so that I had to jump off. Jim’s horse was a trifle better, but he hadn’t much to spare. We weren’t sorry to take the bridles out of their mouths and let them pick a bit on the flat when we got safe over.